


The Torn Prince

by Steggellettea94



Category: Original Work, Thir13en Ghosts (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steggellettea94/pseuds/Steggellettea94
Summary: Perfection isn't easy to attain.
Kudos: 6





	The Torn Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of the movie Thirteen Ghosts. Each short story will follow one of the ghosts, how they died, and how they were taken to the house. The Thirteen Ghosts Wiki says the First Born Son is represented by Aires, the ram; as a bonus - for lack of better word - twelve of the stories will contain the symbol of the astrological zodiac - a ram, a bull, twins, ect.
> 
> These are my interpretations of the Black Zodiac - if I had been given the premise of Thirteen Ghosts and the Black Zodiac, what I would do with it. It's not so much a fanfic as it is a rewrite.
> 
> Not beta-read.
> 
> Word count: 4,511
> 
> Additional Note: I got the idea for the Prince's death early on and it wasn't until I was nearing the climax that I started to do research and realized that it isn't entirely plausible. However, I was determined to keep going. So, pretend this can happen. (Hope that was vague enough that it didn't spoil anything!)

Life was perfect for Theo Jendrock. His parents were attentive but gave him space; he lived in a nice house with fashionable clothes and the latest gadgets. His older brothers were attending two of the best universities. Theo himself had some of the best grades in his high school - he was on track to becoming the valedictorian - he had been part of the student council for three years and was both the star hitter on their baseball team and the quarterback in football. Everything about him and his life was perfect, enviable to everyone who knew him or knew of him. Everything except this stupid lump of clay.

Theo glared at the gray lump in front of him, soft and malleable in some parts while hardening in others. He ran his hand across it, hoping to smooth some of the cracks. The pile cracked further, a deep line zig zagging through and chipping off a chunk. He groaned for what felt like the millionth time today.

“It needs to be wetter.”

Theo looked up at his table mate. Mollie Kain turned red under his gaze and gestured at his lump. “Water. It’s too dry. You won’t make anything out of it.” She picked up her spray bottle and handed it over. Theo mumbled a thank you and sprayed the lump, silently groaning all the while.

It shouldn’t be as hard as it was. All he was doing was making a vase or a pot or some stupid little container. It wasn’t going to be fancy, nothing like his classmates were making - not an abstract mask, or a full tea set, or whatever the hell Derrick O’Reilly was making in the far corner (probably a pair of tits) - just a dish. And yet, he had spent the last three weeks of art sculpting and re-sculpting it. Theo pursed his lips and continued to spray the lump, hoping to someone the large crack would mend itself together. 

“I-I think you’ve got enough, Theo,” Mollie said, her face still red. She gently took the spray bottle back. “Just..ah...just smooth it together. Like making empanadas.” She ran her fingers over her own sculpture, a small lion, pressing and pinching the soft clay together. 

Theo mimicked her for a minute before breathing out through his nose. It still looked like shit. He clucked his tongue and looked around the room, finally spying Sorrell by the door. “I’m gonna take a break,” he mumbled. He pushed himself away from the table and walked over to Sorrell.

It was Sorrell’s free period, a time when most seniors went to the courtyard or just off school grounds to smoke. Instead, he was here, working on his project for his independent art class, a class Ms. Barbanell created for her star pupil. 

Theo watched him for a moment, a soft smile on his face. Sorrell had not noticed him. His dreadlocks were tied up as they always were when he painted. He somehow had gotten blues and greens all over his jeans and hoodie despite only painting with warm tones today; there were smudges of orange on his brown hands, dotting him and the paintbrush like dalmatians. His warm eyes were focused on the canvas, his tongue peeking out between his lips, and his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Keep looking at it like that, and it might catch on fire.”

The corner of Sorrell’s mouth twisted up, but he did not turn around. He ran the paintbrush across the painting, a streak of canary yellow following in its path. Theo shifted. There was something about the way he gripped the brush, his utter concentration...made him think of the concentration he had when they-

“Isn’t pottery over on the other side?”

Theo blinked before falling back into an easy smile. He walked up to Sorrell, placing his head on his shoulder. His boyfriend gave him an irritated look before dipping his brush into an orange-yellow and swirling it. 

“I wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Really?” He lifted the brush, now a sunset orange and dashed it across the painting, quick and efficient. “It looks to me like you are trying to find a distraction.” 

Theo grimaced. 

“I can’t visit my boyfriend in class?” He over-encunciated the word, drawing out the “o” in boyfriend. The corner of Sorrell’s mouth twisted up, just as Theo knew it would. He loved the word, loved that using it angered people, infuriated them. He loved it even more that no one said anything once they realized the boyfriend in question was the Theo Jendrock, not only a star athlete, but the largest boy in school, far larger than most of the adults in town. It was like poking a dragon then running for cover, though Sorrell liked to see the word as a cocoon. 

“Not...not if you’re going to distract him from his work.”

Theo frowned and buried his face into the crook of his neck. “It won’t work.”

“What won’t?” Sorrell’s tone was soft, gentle. 

“The clay.”

Sorrell said nothing for a while, dipping his brush into a dark orange and swirling it on his palate. They listened to the class chatter behind them, Ms. Barnabell quietly talking to one of the more intense art students in the farthest corner. Sorrell lifted the brush, hesitated, then raised it again, flattening it as he pulled the paint from one side of the canvas to the other. It was effortless, like the paints - their color, their configuration - flowed from Sorrell, like they were a part of him. 

“I’m sure whatever you’re making is beautiful -”

“It’s shit.”

Sorrell pursed his lips. He took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed. Theo groaned. He pulled back, turning to go back to his table. He could feel Sorrell turn around, his stiff jeans crinkling as he twisted around to - to what? Convince Theo the hideous lump was actually worth something? That it wouldn’t result in a failure? 

Theo flung himself into his seat, glaring at the pile before picking up Mollie’s spray bottle and furiously dousing it.

***

Two days later and Theo watched his class carefully put their creations into the kiln. His jaw set, and fingers clenching his….bowl, as beautiful sculpture after beautiful sculpture was placed in the kiln, Ms. Barnabell smiling fondly at them, praising a little part of their work.

“That’ll look wonderful when fired.”

“The divets are a great addition!”

“If you add the blue ombre liked we talked about, these little swirls will shine.”

“Derrick, did you spend these last few weeks making a pair of… breasts?”

While they argued about the artistic value of a woman’s tits, Mollie wiggled around them and placed her miniature lion in the kiln. She smiled down at it and slipped back into the classroom, tucking her hair behind her ear. Theo tightened his grip on his bowl. The clay folded, creasing with his fingertips. A part of him was horrified, burning up through him and causing his stomach to clench. He wanted to run back to his table and smooth over the creases, as though it would fix all the other creases and cracks and bumps; as though that one action would result in a flawless sculpture that would lead to Mrs. Barnabell falling to her knees in awe and Derrick O’Reilly to drop his fleshy breasts, flattening them. 

A much larger part of him wanted to chuck the damn thing in the kiln or better yet at the wall, splattering everything in sight with clay.

“Theo.”

Derrick had lost the argument. He stood to the side, gently jiggling the stiff clay with a crooked grin on his face, as though they would bounce like actual tits. Mrs. Barnabell smiled at Theo expectedly, and he came forward, every part of him feeling like it was on fire. 

He clenched his jaw, hearing his teeth grind, and placed it in the kiln as quickly as possible. Theo started to turn around when Mrs. Barnabell peered down and commented, “interesting approach. I’m excited to see how it will turn out.”

The fire slowly engulfing his body roared to life, flicking at his ears and neck. Theo nodded, his stomach clenching violently as he walked back to his table. Derrick opened his mouth to say something, but one jerk of Theo’s head shut him up. 

He breathed through his nose and flung himself back into his seat. His eyes hurt. His nose twitched. His stomach would not stop cramping and the fire would not stop raging, burning him and sending the hairs on his arms standing up. Theo rubbed his arms, hoping to cool it, but the motion did little.

After what seemed like forever, the last student put their sculpture in the kiln. With his chest tightening, Theo watched Ms. Barnabell sternly speak to Derrick and shut the lid.

***

Theo stood outside the school, bouncing on his toes and blowing into his cupped hands. The sun was still hiding behind the building, slowly peeking out; the start of its rays turning the sky pink as it crested the horizon. A cool fog settled across the campus, dampening the tops of Theo’s high-tops and the grass he was standing on. He clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering.

He shouldn’t be here. If the locked doors weren’t enough of a clue that he should be sleeping, the still dark sky was. And yet, here he was, tightly wrapped in his jacket, arms crossed to preserve heat. The janitors would be here soon, and they would open the doors for him. He smiled a little at that. It was easy to get what you wanted when you scored a few home runs, got a couple touchdowns, and were just liked by everyone. It didn’t hurt that his GPA was killer.

His smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He clenched his jaw tighter, his teeth painfully grinding together. His stomach clenched and unclenched; Theo felt like he was going to throw-up. He swallowed, trying to push those feelings down, but they remained, bubbling below the surface, like lava in a volcano.

A car pulled into the school parking lot, and Theo straightened, breaking out a toothy grin. An older man got it - Esteban he thought from the slicked-back hair and the slight limp when he walked. His grin widened as he came closer, lugging his backpack over his shoulder.

Esteban looked at Theo then up at the sky. Theo let out a puff of laughter. “What are you doing here, man? You should be sleeping.”

“Just had some things I had to finish.”

Esteban’s eyes comically widened. “Some things to do? At four in the morning?”

Theo shrugged, his heart beating a little faster. “It was the only time I could come in.”

He nodded, then shrugged, shifting his backpack to pull out a set of keys. “You take on too much, man.” Esteban unlocked the doors and held them open for Theo. He passed him and waited for Esteban to turn off the alarm.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

***

He threw his jacket off in the corner and swiftly walked over to the supply closet. It was unlocked. Theo jerked it open, heaving the unopened hunk of clay onto his table. It thunked down, and for a moment, he thought the table would crumble. It wobbled slightly, but stayed standing. Good. He nodded at the table, then dashed around for a spray bottle, clay knife, and whatever else he could think of. A quick glance at the clock, and his heart rate increased, thudding as loudly as the clay hitting the table; his body felt like it might collapse.

Theo ripped open the bag and immediately sprayed it with lukewarm water. As soon as the clay looked soft enough, he cut off a slab, tossing it onto the table before him. He hooked a leg around the chair leg behind him and pulled it up to him. Theo sat down and rolled up his sleeves, breathing out through his mouth, and trying not to puke.

***

It still looked like shit. Theo stared at the lump in utter disbelief, his whole body feeling sore and uneasy. The sculpture was closer to that of a bowl, but it was still uneven, the rim rolling and varying in thickness. He ran a hand through his hair, smearing damp clay in it. Theo couldn’t bring himself to care. He turned the bowl slowly, looking for any redeeming quality for the hideous thing before him. The base was fine, sturdier, and the sides seemed okay. So what the hell was going on with the top?

He pressed the sides of the bowl in, folding it in on itself, before deciding against it and pulling them out, the sides falling like a blooming flower. Theo sprayed them with more water - the clay becoming slick - and started to push them back up, slowly turning the bowl and running his hands across it. By the time he had twisted the bowl around, it was back to resembling a bowl. A bowl made and designed by toddlers in a muddy patch. 

Theo stared down at it, a low rumbling in his ears. It was like being underwater, waves crashing in his eardrums. He took a deep breath and exhaled. In, out. In, out. He repeated it several times, closing his eyes. But the roaring grew louder, and his hands started to tremble. His chest tightened; every nerve felt like it was on fire, aching to be touched - no, torn apart to release the quickly building tension in his body. Theo opened his eyes and stared at the lump before him. 

“Stop it,” he murmured, clenching his hands. “Stop it. Stupid, stop. This isn’t - stop it. There’s no reason to be like this. Just stop.”

His body paid him no mind, his shaking hands reaching for the bowl - almost on autopilot - and picked it up. It had firmed up, though some patches remained slimy and wet. He held it in his hands for a moment, weighing it, his eyes critically roaming over the ugly thing.  _ Splack! _

The bowl hit the wall, flattening one side, and splattering the wall with bits of loose clay. A poster of the color wheel slid down the wall, crumbling, folding over the clay like a covered body at a crime scene. 

Theo put his shaking hands in his hair and dug his nails in. It felt good, painful. “Stop, stop, stop.” The word fell from his lips like air, but nothing changed. His chest continued to tighten, his hands shook, the roaring in his ears increased until tears pooled in his eyes and started falling down his cheeks. He inhaled and exhaled, his breathing shakier now, inhales too deep and exhales too short. Theo dug his nails into his scalp, twisting them in his hair and pulled, his nerves singing praises and crying out simultaneously -

“Theo?”

His heart thudded loudly in his chest. He imagined turning around, openingly letting his tears fall and collapsing into Sorrell’s embrace. Sorrell quietly calming him down and helping him remake his shitty bowl. Them placing it in the kiln and the instructor marveling at it.

He didn’t move.

“Babe, what are you doing here?” His jacket shuffled as he took it off - probably draped it over a chair - and came closer, his sneakers squeaking softly on the concrete floor. Theo’s back felt hot as he drew closer; his nerves were electrified and vibrating with fear. 

Sorrell stopped behind him, taking in the smashed bowl and his hunched-over boyfriend. He swallowed, opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed again. He felt hot, his stomach twisting as he fought to get the words out.

“What...what happened?”

Theo took a deep breath and clenched his hair tighter. It was like a blanket; he needed to hold on, even if he knew it was ridiculous, he needed to. “It’s bad,” he finally said.

“What’s bad?”

He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes. It wasn’t Sorrell’s fault. He was doing what a good boyfriend did - what he always did; he was calm, patient. He was trying to understand. And yet, his soft voice was like needles to Theo’s dark skin, igniting his nerves and putting everything on edge, coiled and ready to spring. Keeping his eyes closed, he said, “The bowl. It’s...it’s not coming out right.” His chest tightened as he said it, and he gripped his hair, digging his nails into his scalp. It calmed him somewhat.

“That’s why you’re here? To make a new one?” He wasn’t asking, but Theo nodded anyway. It was quiet for a moment. Sorrell slowly walked around Theo, squatting down in front of him. His chest ached. He knew Theo had these...moments, but he had never seen one happen. To see his strong, devil-may-care boyfriend, his defender, on his knees and almost paralyzed with fear was…there was no word for it. He swallowed and raised his hand, hesitating before placing it on Theo’s arm. Theo jerked, but didn’t open his eyes. Carefully, Sorrell laced both his hands in Theo’s and pulled his fingers from his scalp. He went quietly, smoothly, as though he had been waiting for someone to velcro his hands away from his hair. Sorrell held his hands in his, running his thumbs across his knuckles.

“Theo…” he started. He stopped, hesitant, then continued. “Babe...it’s one sculpture…”

Theo was already shaking his head. He hadn’t opened his eyes. “It’s gotta be good.”

“Why?” Theo opened his eyes and stared at the ground. He said nothing. “Is this about...what is this...you’ve already got a scholarship. You’re already salutatorian -.” He stopped. Theo’s Adam’s apple had jumped at that, a half-swallow. Sorrell’s heart broke a little more. “Babe....salutatorian...you’re the only one in the school with that recognition. That’s amazing. And with everything else you’re doing -.”

Theo shook his head. He took a deep breath, and on the exhale said, “not good enough.” Sorrell rubbed his hands firmer, staring at him. “Salutatorian….they’re the first losers...they -.”

“Who the fuck told you that?” He didn’t mean to raise his voice. Theo flinched, his eyes going wide, and Sorrell let out a breath. “Sorry, sorry. That’s just...that’s wrong, Theo. It’s amazing. You’re not...no one is like Madison Deberough or - or -.”

“Tommy Ryanger.”

“Tommy Ryanger. They don’t have sports or clubs. They just do homework, and that’s fine. What you are -.”

But Theo was shaking his head again, swallowing. His hands twitched in Sorrell’s, and he tightened his hands, fearful he would pull from him and start scratching at his scalp. “I...would be with...it’s just...this.need to be perfect…”

Sorrell’s eyes widened.  _ Oh. _ “Babe...sweetheart...Barnabell wouldn’t fail you ‘cause your sculpture was - ah - it’s avant garde. This is Intro to Pottery. You tried, you did the homework, you listened. You came to class every day. You will get an A, and -.” Theo was already starting to shake his head “- it’s not a pity A. Derrick made a fine pair of tits and he’s gonna get a C at best.” The corner of Theo’s mouth lifted for a second. Sorrell’s heart jumped, and he grinned. “Maybe if he sculpted a cock and balls, he’d’ve gotten a -”

The world exploded. Fragments of wood, pottery, and linoleum blasted through the room. Smoke filled the air. Sorrell screamed. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t breathe. Theo crushed him, curling in on him, pressing his nose to his chest. His eyes burned. It was hot. Hot. Too much. And then...quiet.

***

Westmont High closed for two days after the accident. The entire east wing of the school had collapsed; the art room, the gym, shops - all destroyed when the old kiln exploded. Firefighters found one survivor - no one else was in that side of the building. He was a mess, Sorrell Howard, sobbing and screaming incoherently. He had been trapped under his boyfriend, Westmont’s dear Theodore Jendrock. When they pulled Sorrell out, he couldn’t contain himself. He threw his body at Theo, screaming, stroking his face. His entire right side was burned, some of it blistered, most of it charcoal black. He looked like he was two different people: a blackened corpse on one side, and a scorched sleeping man on the other. Paramedics quickly bagged his body before taking him out. Sorrell screamed as they loaded Theo into a separate ambulance and refused to calm down until he was allowed to ride with him. 

The contents of the kiln - or what was left of it - were looked over to find the cause of the explosion. The kiln’s age and the broken heat dial were large factors, no doubt adding to the force of the explosion. However, the trigger was much smaller, almost overlooked. A five inch statue of what was later identified as a lion had been the final component. The kiln, already old and on the edge of retirement, had been switched to a high temperature too quickly, aggravating the air bubbles and hollow head of the lion statue, causing it to erupt, shattering the other sculptures. The force was too much for the old kiln, exploding it and the surrounding area. 

News stations latched on to the story. It was too good for them to pass up. Faulty equipment in a school, an accidental time bomb in the form of an art student’s sculpture, the death of a beloved athlete, a gay romance - it was inevitable they would descend upon the traumatized school and students, focusing on the principal, art teacher, the student who created the lion - a Mollie Kain - and the athlete’s boyfriend, Sorrell Howard. 

  
  


***

Ten Years Later

Schools liked to think they had state-of-the-art security systems, that they knew how to protect their students. Their methods relied on observant security guards and people following protocol. Walk into a school in nice clothes and a confident air, and no one bothered you. If anyone wished to harm the students of Westmont High School, they could have done so easily. As it was, a tall man in a very tight black suit, who entered the front doors and beelined for the art room, had no issues with the current students. He smiled a little as he came to the double doors leading to the art department. He paused, then opened the door and stepped inside.

School was almost out for the day. Students were eagerly watching the clock, slowly packing away their notebooks and water bottles as the second and minute hands ticked closer and closer to freedom. You would not know that from the abandoned room the man now stood in. 

For most of the day, it was filled with students, some excited to take a break from their note-taking and monotonous classes, while others were bored, wanting nothing more than to pull out their homework or play on their phones until the next bell. For the final class, however, it was dead - the man smiled a bit at that as he wandered around, his hand grazing the tables and chairs - with the only sound being the leaky faucet. The school had claimed that the lack of a final period was out of respect for the life lost ten years ago, but the students had seen through that. Anyone could see through it. The death took place before school hours, and the student in question had the class for his third period, not his sixth. Students just didn’t want to be in a room where the tragedy took place, especially one deemed haunted by their artistic peers.

The man stood in the center of the room, staring at the artwork on the walls. All of it was terribly done. But who was he to critique? Someone’s mother probably wanted to hang the acrylic work on her walls and brag to her book club about her talented young child.

He suppressed a smile and cleared his throat. “Theodore,” he called, “may I speak with you?” Silence. He waited a couple minutes before continuing. “I heard you have, ah, a great reputation with the - what’s the word? - gay students of the school; they see you as their -.”

“It’s 2018. LGBTQ or queer are both acceptable terms.”

The man held back a smile as he turned toward the door. A young black man - a teenager - had entered. He was large - taller than the man - with broad shoulders and a square jaw. He was handsome. He would have been even more handsome, magazine-worthy had the right side of his face not been blackened and charred beyond recognition. The teenager cocked his head and stared at the man, waiting for him.

The man stepped forward, stretching out his hand. “Catullus Kettlewell,” he said. The teenager cocked an eyebrow. He grinned. “Theodore Jendrock, correct?”

The teenager nodded.. He stared at Catullus for a moment. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you! I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”

Theo tried to hide it, but Catullus could see the way his eyes lit up, his back straightened. “Really?”

“Of course! The halls buzz with excitement - with rumors surrounding you, the beloved football player who met his fate here.” He stood up straight, grinning up at Theo, “Many of the - LGBTQ, you said? - see you as their hero, as the crusader who defends them from, ah, homophobic peers.”

Theo shrugged, his ears and neck warming. Catullus grinned. “I was thrilled to hear you were still such a charming - a good person in the afterlife. And the way Sorrell talks about you -.” Theo snapped up to look at him, his eyes wide, mouth opening slightly. 

He swallowed and blinked, trying to remain calm. “Sorrell?”

“Yes, Sorrell Howard. A local artist now. Started an organization in your name. The Theodore Jendrock Institute. They help underprivileged LGBTQ youth.”

Theo smiled, a full smile. The charred side of his face lifted, looking painful. “That sounds like something he would do.”

“Indeed.” They stood there for a moment. Catullus kept his hands in his pockets, stroking his fingers over a box. “From all the articles written about him, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

Theo looked at Catullus, though his gaze was foggy. He was likely thinking back to the two of them in high school, planning their future. It didn’t look how they pictured it, but at least Sorrell was doing well. Catullus smiled in return. “It will destroy him once rumors reach him you are no longer defending the youth here.”

It took him a moment to register what Catullus had said, so caught up in his own memories. By the time he realized he wasn’t here to talk about his beloved boyfriend, it was too late. The box had been thrown and Theo was gone. Catullus smiled and picked it up, looking it over before putting it back in his pocket. He turned and left the art room, pausing only to look at a memorial plaque next to the door. He smiled and left, the final bell ringing. 

_ 2001 13 GHOSTS _ VS.  **2018 13 GHOSTS**

Black Zodiac: A young man with a bright future who dies with injuries to the right side of his body.

_ 2001 GHOST’S STORY _

_ Royce Clayton was a high school star baseball player with an ego. He accepted a drag race challenge against his friend, Johnny, who cut the brake line to Royce’s car. The car crashed and Royce’s died from the ensuing fire, burning much of the right side of his body.  _

**2018/19 GHOST’S STORY**

**Theo Jendrock was a beloved high school athlete struggling with anxiety. His biggest/current hold-up was his art class, which he believed would prevent him from becoming valedictorian and achieving perfection. When he tried to fix his statue, he had an anxiety attack and was comforted by his boyfriend. As it seemed he might overcome his attack, a kiln exploded; he twisted himself to protect his boyfriend, burning most of the right side of his body. **

**Leo, the Lion: ** The next sign is Leo, the lion.  **The statue that caused the explosion killing Theo was a lion. Theo’s act of selflessness could also be seen as him being “lion-hearted.”**


End file.
